


Al parecerse, hacerse | To become, upon seeming to be

by brittlestars



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: 5.03, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Captain Singh is aware of your shenanigans, Central City reacts to news of Vibe's death, Cisco is not in a good place right now, Gen, Team Flash/Central City, Vibe is a Hero, child endangerment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 10:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16617014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittlestars/pseuds/brittlestars
Summary: When 911 receives a late-night call from a little girl on the dangerous side of town, Vibe might be the only one with the information needed to save her.Months later, Caitlin reaches out to a distraught Cisco to show him that he made the biggest difference for the citizens of Central City with his heart, not his powers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kineticallyanywhere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kineticallyanywhere/gifts).



> Inspired by [a comment on kineticallyanywhere's tumblr](http://kineticallyanywhere.tumblr.com/post/179394223822/that-death-of-vibe-article-is-getting-to-me-in-a) asking why don't we see more of Vibe & Co. doing everyday heroing. I've read a ton of great Spider-Man x New York City fanfic, so it's high time we start generating some Team Flash x Central City stories.
> 
> There is some heartbreak in here but content is no more graphic than the TV show. A list of potentially triggering content is given at the end of chapter 3 so as not to drop spoilers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hover/follow embedded links for translations of Spanish dialogue.

"Hey, Cisco, you don't know of any tropical fish stores or petting zoos on the south side do you?"

Cisco set down the hands-free radio he'd been fine-tuning. His brow creased. One of these days he'd needle Singh into finding him space for an actual workshop, somewhere he could tinker uninterrupted. One of these days. 

He turned from his overcrowded desk in the corner to face Joe across the aisle. "There's a pet store in the strip mall on Cesar Chavez Boulevard, up by the cathedral. Not big enough to have many fish in stock though, and definitely not a petting zoo." 

"By St. Mark's? Already sent a patrol by there. No luck."

"Looking for a hobby?"

"Hardly. Lost kid."

Cisco cast a cautious glance around the bullpen. Typical of a weekday evening at the station, office chatter was light, unhurried. Cisco wheeled over to Joe's desk before leaning in to whisper, "Got anything I can vibe on?"

Joe shook his head. "The kid called 911 herself. She was mumbling about being cold and alone, then something about seashells and piggies and little doves, then she hung up. Or the cell phone died."

"Triangulation get a fix?"

"Down to two towers when the call was cut."

Cisco sucked a breath. That was a pretty big range, too big to search effectively at night. He leaned back in the chair, spinning idly as he contemplated whether his signal processing skills would be any better than the 911 dispatching software. Probably not. 

"We're already searching the parks and Central hasn't exactly got any beaches or farms, so some kind of pet store was our next guess. I can pull out the original transcript if you want to read it," Joe offered, tapping a thin stack of papers.

"That's not the original?"

"This is the translation; the girl was speaking Spanish."

Cisco frowned. Little doves? "What did the kid say?" he asked. 

"Something about doves, or pigeons maybe. Shells. Baby pigs."

"No. Joe, listen to me: What did the kid say, _exactly_?"

"Uh..." Joe rifled through his notes. "The dispatcher asked ¿Dónde estás? ¿Qué ves?' and the kid said 'Conchas y palomitas y unos puerquit—" Joe squinted "—puerquitititos.' Then it's garbled for a few seconds, then the call ended."

Cisco didn't take time to goad Joe for his terrible accent. Instead, he reached into his bag for his spare pair of vibe goggles. "Get a side room ready and notify CPS for standby," he said, slipping on his gloves as he stood up. "I'll be back with the kid in a minute."

He paused, mentally weighing outcomes. Softly, he asked, "Should I bring Abraham with me?"

Lieutenant Abraham had been an emergency room nurse practitioner before switching over to the police force. Even as a cop, Lieutenant Abraham kept his medical credentials current.

Lieutenant Abraham did not know that Cisco was a metahuman, not to mention a superhero. 

Joe closed his eyes. Team Flash always seemed to come to him with the hard decisions. It was never easy, but at least this time he had some guidance. "Dispatch didn't rank this as critical."

Cisco nodded, but the bad feeling didn't clear up. He grabbed the transcript from Joe's desk and scribbled an address. "Send a squad car anyway."

Joe felt a small measure of relief knowing Cisco wasn't going in alone. "And I'll make sure Caitlin and Barry are on-comms in case it's... time-sensitive."

Cisco darted away in the direction of the ground floor broom closet. As he turned the corner he had to throw up his hands to avoid crashing into Captain Singh. 

"Mr. Ramon."

"Captain!" Cisco continued edging through the doorway. He folded his hands under his arms across his chest. 

"Nice sunglasses." Singh commented, voice dry. 

"Uh, yea. Yea, thanks." Cisco's words cracked on a single, nervous laugh. "Wonderful evening isn't it? Think I'll get some fresh air! Bye!" He spun and hurried down the hall. 

Singh stared after Cisco until he disappeared from view, then shook his head and continued across the bullpen floor. He paused occasionally to check in with officers at their desks, not appearing to have any directed path. 

"Detective West," he asked, "do you have any idea why Ramon wants to go for a walk down a dead-end corridor at—" he glanced at his wristwatch "—ten fifty-two at night?"

"No, sir." Joe collected his papers and began shuffling them. "I find it best not to try to understand anything Cisco does. He starts with the science and I'm totally in the dark."

"Aren't we all," Singh murmured. He contemplated the row of exterior windows, each rectangle glowing cool blue with the light of an outside streetlamp.

The color of light was much different across town, where the street lights still had old-style sodium arc bulbs. The warm, almost sickly orange haze was punctuated by a silent swirl of blue-white, eerie, otherworldly. 

Vibe stepped out from the breach. He'd had time to throw on the signature jacket but not the pants. He hoped his jeans would be enough protection. Not that he would need protection finding one lost little girl.

Vibe frowned. It _was_ the south side. There were plenty of good people here, he knew, but they would prefer not to be out in the streets this time of night if they could avoid it. 

He peered out from the alleyway he'd 'ported into, jumping back and cursing under his breath as he and a street cat startled each other. The alley was so full of trash and debris that he was grateful he hadn't tripped and faceplanted. He reminded himself to ask Caitlin if his tetanus shot was up-to-date.

He saw no other movement as he paused to catch his breath and let the roar of his pounding heart die from his ears. He felt the brush of a concerned vibration from Cynthia and echoed calm back at her through the fabric of the multiverse. A ghost of smile played across his lips. He'd catch her up once the kid was safe.

He squared his shoulders and strode around the corner into the shopping area parking lot. It was a long block until he reached the front of the panadería. Nothing seemed amiss from the outside. He leaned forward, peering in the window. The bakery interior was lit only by a distant streetlamp, corners dark and walls blotched by shadows thrown by the blocky, hand-painted letters on the front window pane.

He rapped his knuckles on the glass. "¿Hola?" he called out. "Anybody here? Any lost little girls?"

No response. 

He knocked again. Again, no response.

A final glance at the street and parking lot yielded no small, frightened children. Holding his breath, he tested the door, pushing with one hand while he kept the other raised, palm out. 

Amazingly, the door swung open with ease. Meeting less resistance than expected, Vibe stumbled forward. Above his head came the sudden tinkling of metal and he yelped in surprise, barely containing the energy that swirled around his palm.

He cast a hateful glance up at the door chimes and then shook his head as if to clear it. On hard-won instinct his darting gaze checked the corners and other entrances first, his hands raised again at the ready. Cynthia would have been proud of his cautious stance, though, he supposed, she probably wouldn't have set off the door chimes in the first place.

Panadería La Linda was a familiar haunt but it felt eerie after hours, especially in comparison to the typical daytime bustle of a popular neighborhood shop. The quiet did little to settle the anxiety that had been mounting in him ever since Joe had asked him about the 911 call.

He felt compelled to make a joke to settle his nerves. He called out, "Llego un poquillo tarde a la fiesta pero... "[1]

His voice trailed off into the darkness. The building was silent, save for the squeak of his sneakers against linoleum floor tiles. 

He shivered. It was a brisk evening, even with a jacket. The thought of a little kid out alone in this cold and dark steeled his resolve. He pushed down his nerves and strode more deeply into the shadows of the bakery. 

Nothing. No attacks. No metas, no criminals, no sound. No sudden speedsters with their vibrations grating against his teeth and skull. He felt his shoulders relax, let his eyes adjust to the dark as they roamed over the familiar outlines of cupboards, wire hanging baskets, countertops. In the corner was the upright rectangle of the popcorn cart.

The smells of powdered sugar and butter and fresh bread made his stomach grumble. He laughed despite himself. Of course his stomach would betray him here. It was difficult to maintain a regular meal schedule when working late at CCPD and Singh's dirty looks made him feel guilty for indulging his sweet tooth. It wasn't his fault Singh's husband was a health nut but he did want to keep on the Captain's good side. As best he could, anyway. Maintaining typical relationships with authority figures was not a personal strength. Take, for instance, his running out on a 911 call alone. Also, his secret identity as a superhero.

He turned in a slow circle to make sure he hadn't missed anything in the front of the bakery. When his eyes swung low in their sweep he paused. There they were: conchas—shell-shaped sweet buns—lined up in their glass display case. Croissants, muffins, bagels, and small pig-shaped cookies were in the next case over. Pairs of tongs were neatly slotted in the door handles. A towering stack of trays was perched to the side. Vibe noted that the front-most row of brightly colored conchas on the lower shelf—eye height for a young kid—was missing, but nothing else seemed out of place.

After finding the bank of light switches, he searched the rest of the building: the small area behind the display counter, the long, narrow oven room in the back, even the bathroom and storage closet. The entire bakery was clean, tidy, and so full of equipment that there wasn't much space to hide. The girl wasn't here.

In fact, there wasn't any sign of a young kid having been here after hours, other than the mysteriously unlocked front door. Vibe frowned. If he'd been Barry, perhaps he would have seen some clue. Barry wouldn't have been outsmarted by a kid. 

He ran the call transcript back over in his mind. This should definitely be the place. What was he missing?

The 911 dispatcher's notes suggested an age of perhaps seven years. Young, but at seven he'd been more than a handful for his poor mother when she was already contending with two unruly older brothers. He smothered a swell of emotion. No time to dwell on the past right now.

He might not have Barry's forensic skills, but he did have a few nifty tricks of his own. He touched the countertop, trying to sort through mental flashes of the scores of customers who had passed through before closing that day. There were plenty of unattended minors, usually in small groups, usually paying for their pastries with coins dropped from their small fists before scampering off to the back. None of the kids seem tired or lost or distressed. 

Something itched at the back of his mind, but it wasn't a vibe. Instead... of course! The storm drain. Neighborhood kids would hang out in the wide cement culvert on the other side of this building. The chain link fence there had a hole in it just large enough for a kid to squeeze through. His cousins used it to show up at the back door of the bakery, begging for sweets. The begging rarely worked, but the bakery did give them a shortcut between the culvert and this end of the neighborhood. As a bonus, it avoided the tetanus alleyway. That explained why so many kids in the vibes seemed to disappear past the counter instead of out the front door.

He tested the back door of the bakery. It was also unlocked. Curiouser and curiouser. 

He pushed out into the cool night air. The streetlamp lights didn't reach this far and the ground was covered in deep shadows. Vibe took a second to let his eyes adjust, ears straining.

"Her name's Rosa," came Joe's voice directly in his ear. 

Vibe cut back a shriek, flinging himself to the building wall. 

"Jesus, Joe! I can't save the kid if I have a heart attack!"

"You found her yet?" Typically he would have been proud of how clearly Joe's voice came over the communications link nestled in his ear, but typically he wasn't alone in a dark back lot at midnight, anxiety ratcheted to eleven.

Vibe's eyes roamed over the lot. Dry, skeletal weeds grew through a tall chain link fence. A narrow footpath cut through the patchy grass. He'd bet the path led to the gap in the fence. 

"Not yet, but I've got a hunch."

Joe grunted. 

Vibe stalked up the path, talking to re-steady his nerves. "Rosa, huh?"

"Family finally called in. They live a block from the bakery, that was a good guess you—"

"—Shh!" Vibe hushed. He'd heard something. A scraping sound coming from the dry culvert on the other side of the fence. 

He stepped forward to peer through the metal fence links and there she was: a small Latina girl curled on her side on the cement. The culvert was a shallow basin with gently sloping walls perhaps three feet high. Not great for skateboarding but otherwise exotic enough to lure in the packs of kids roaming the neighborhood. The walls were tagged with graffiti, including the words "Kid Flash 4ever." Vibe felt himself grin.

"Rosa," he called softly, waving. 

She rolled onto her back, movements sluggish and poorly coordinated. Was she twitching? 

Vibe didn't bother to try scaling the fence. Instead, he breached himself right next to her.

Upon seeing him appear from nowhere, the girl immediately skittered backward, wrapping her slender arms around her shaking knees. Her eyes were wide and brown under long, messy brown hair. She was wearing thin fleece pajamas, pink with a star pattern. She left behind a chunky cellphone, its dim screen flashing "PILA BAJA."[2] Next to the phone lay a brown paper bag with pastries tumbling out.

Vibe held his hands up to show he meant not harm. In the back of his mind he recognized that the gesture might appear threatening to anyone who knew he could fire concussive waves of force from his hands. Cindy had warned him that an open-palmed wave on Earth-19 was considered a show of lethal force. But the girl was watching his face, not his hands.

He crouched, squinting at the child. Keeping his movements slow, he reached up to tap his ear comm to add STAR to Joe's call. 

"Hey there," Vibe said before switching to Spanish, «I'm so glad I found you.»

"How's she look, Cisco?" Joe asked. 

Vibe frowned. "Breathing seems steady, if fast. She's not bleeding or bruised that I can see. But she's barely conscious." He glanced at the overturned bag of pastries. Could she have been poisoned? 

"Pulse?" Caitlin prompted, her voice distant from the microphone. Vibe could hear rummaging; she was probably preparing a field kit. 

Vibe inched closer but the girl backed away equally far, wide eyes on him. He stopped approaching, sitting back on his heels. "Gimme a minute," he muttered into his mic. 

«Rosa, hi. Hello.» He smiled. 

«You knocked on the bakery window.» Her voice was faint but skeptical.

«I'm not a stranger, I'm Vibe. You know me from TV.»

She didn't move, rigid posture somewhere between terror and passing out. She didn't buy that he was the neighborhood superhero. Smart. But then, she also had the street smarts to cover her tracks at the bakery by neatly closing away the display cases she'd stolen the pastries from. 

"Gimme a minute," he repeated. "Gotta make sure she's okay to transport." He was totally not about about scaring Rosa more by kidnapping her.

"Do you need me there in suit? I can convince her to come with The Flash," Barry offered.

Vibe was about to retort when Caitlin's voice cut in, "Barry, no offense, but you don't even speak her language. She needs somebody a little more her speed right now."

Vibe reached up and muted his earpiece. He needed to focus, not scare the child by holding two conversations at once. Her eyes followed his hand motions but her eyelids were drooping.

He glanced again to the pile of pastries at her side. «The pink conchas are my favorite,» he whispered. 

That got her shell to crack, just a bit. «Really? Mine too.»

Vibe nodded, solemn. «But don't tell anybody. It can be our secret.»

«They don't really taste like...» she waved her hand in the air.

"Strawberry?"

«Yea.»

«Did something taste strange about that one? Did you eat it?» 

She shook her head: no. «Gotta...» she sighed, voice fading, «Gotta get home first.»

Vibe surged forward, catching Rosa as she slumped to the ground. This time she was too weak to pull back. 

«Rosa, hey, stay awake.»

Rosa's eyelids fluttered back open. Up close, he could see she had a rapid pulse, but she didn't feel warm with a fever.

He cast about mentally for any topic to keep her awake. «You know, I have a friend. She's really strong, and really smart, and really, really kind. Her favorite color is pink, but she's allergic to strawberries. Rosa, do you have any allergies?» 

Rosa shook her head: no. «What's her name?» 

«Cindy.»

«Does Cindy have to do shots, too?»

Vibe's mind raced. Shots but no allergies? Please don't let this be drugs. «If she eats strawberries, she does.»

«Shots hurt.»

«Probably. But, like I said, she's brave. Do you think you can be brave like her?»

The girl looked up with wide brown eyes, and nodded. She was fading fast. 

«Okay, okay.» Vibe shifted his grip, slipping an arm under the girl's shoulders. «I'm going to bring you to my doctor friend now.»

«'K...»

«Just be brave like Cindy for me.»

«'K...» Rosa turned in toward his chest and passed out, tiny body limp.

Vibe swallowed down the bile in his throat, the sick and twisted feeling that was he was about to do was Wrong with a capital W. But he had to know. Invasion of privacy, even of a little kid, was worth saving a life. 

He reached down to touch the skin of the girl's cheek. It was slick with sweat. He held his breath. He'd originally used fear to power his vibes, and he was plenty afraid for Rosa right now, but he had developed better control of his vibing abilities ever since Cynthia had given him the metaphor of his powers as music. She helped him practice. At least, she did whenever she could manage to get time off work to come see him. Not now, he scolded himself. Focus. 

He kept a tight rein on the vibe, pushing his senses slowly to limit to recent experience only. The first feeling was a wash of vertigo - the kid was small, short, and her surroundings towered over in her in a way that made Vibe's head spin. Rosa was lying in bed, feeling somehow both weak and wired, jittery. He felt and heard her heart pumping wildly, a tiny shiver running down her spine. After a minute of tossing and turning, she stood, clutching her low bed for support. «I'm sorry, mamá,» she whispered before reaching her hand out to the bedroom door and—

Vibe frowned. Feeling another meta's powers secondhand through a vibe as always weird, but this was more unexpected than anything. He heard the muffled click of a latch high above Rosa's head and then the girl pulled open the door with her trembling hand. Glancing around the mostly empty bedroom, she grabbed a battered cell phone—the same Vibe had seen next to her unconscious body in the culvert—from her bedside table. It was the only furniture in the room apart from the bed the curtain rod, hung with a colorful gauzy material. She turned and her fleece-swaddled feet carried them down a narrow, dark hallway. Vibe glanced back: sure enough, there was a sliding bolt lock on the outside of the girl's bedroom door, now open. He frowned again. 

Rosa moved straight for the kitchen, slowing only to tiptoe past a room illuminated by a blaring television. She held her breath when ghosting past the doorway. As Rosa slipped into the kitchen Cisco pulled on his presence in the vibe, hanging back. He hovered in the dark hallway, indecisive. What he needed from this vibe was information on her medical condition. What was there to learn from checking on mom in the TV room?

Just then came a low, buzzing snore from the darkened room and that decided him. First, the medical crisis. Everything else next. 

The kitchen was dimly lit in an orange wash by the outside streetlamp through the security bars on the window. Rosa was a small, dark outline in the frame of the open refrigerator door. Her fingers gripped the door tight, knuckles white. Vibe leaned over her shoulder and saw that the fridge was mostly empty except for a torn-open case of beer. Rosa's mouth worked, murmuring about needing something to eat as her gaze slid past the beer—Vibe exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding—and then past bottles of mojo and chili sauce to land on a orange juice carton. Rosa slipped the cell phone in her pajama pocket and snatched up the orange juice in both hands, fumbling to bend open the creased wax paper spout. She pressed her lips directly to the lip. Vibe could hear the echo of his own mamá scolding him, just like he always scolded Cindy.

Rosa sat down on the linoleum floor abruptly. The orange juice carton was empty but for a few scant drops. She shook it before throwing across the room. Tears formed in the corner of her eyes. The skin of her cheeks was growing pale. 

Vibe scanned the room. It was small, with a tidiness that came from not owning many things. By the light of the refrigerator door he could see into the narrow pantry alcove. The high shelves held mostly canned and jarred food: he recognized various kinds of beans and diced tomatoes and guava paste. There was a half-empty gallon jug of cooking oil between a full spice rack and a stack of dried corn husks for wrapping tamales. There was a huge bag of white rice held shut by a rubber band. Lower in the pantry was a cardboard box containing a few potatoes and onions and several bulbs of garlic. Rosa pulled herself over to this box and Vibe grimaced as she peeled aside the papery skin of an onion before biting into it like an apple. She immediately spat it out, pawing at her tongue with her knuckles. Her tears were flowing more freely now as she frantically rooted in the box.

The strangest part of all this, Vibe realized with suddenly clarity, was Rosa's urgency. This wasn't the resignation of a habitually hungry kid, this was a mounting panic. He glanced back over their shoulder at the reflected light of the TV flickering, dim. Rosa seemed unconcerned with being caught: apart from stepping lightly past the TV room she hadn't once looked to the hall.

Finding nothing worthwhile in the vegetable box, Rosa scanned the higher shelves. She paused for a moment when her eyes struck upon the spice rack high out of reach. She looked over to the single kitchen table chair. Not a telekinetic, then, Vibe realized. Otherwise she'd just pull the jars down. Maybe her powers were limited to metal? Or to locks? Again, none of that mattered for now. He had to figure out the medical emergency first. 

"Cisco," Barry's voice was directly over his shoulder and accompanied by the sudden, crackling rush of static in the air that was the Speed Force. Cisco cursed as a spike of unbridled fear ripped his focus away from the vibe. 

He yanked his vibe goggles off, blinking up at Barry from where he'd fallen backward out of a crouch onto his ass. His heart hammered as his senses settled back into his own body. His knees ached from supporting Rosa's body above the cement. They were both shivering now.

The Flash set Caitlin down and held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Sorry," he murmured, chagrined, "but you really shouldn't shut off your comms." As Caitlin moved to check on her patient Vibe swallowed, nodding. He looked down at Rosa but didn't remove his steadying hand from her shoulder against his chest.

"She was looking for food," Vibe said. The Flash's eyes widened, but Vibe shook his head against the implication and clarified, "I think she's diabetic."

"That was my first guess as well, given the symptoms," said Caitlin. She stood. "I've got everything set up to treat insulin shock at STAR. She'll stabilize quickly but we should get going."

As Vibe raised a fist to open a breach, red and blue flashes illuminated the tops of the nearby trees. The police cruiser Joe had sent was approaching the front of the bakery, sirens off but lights on.

Vibe opened the breach and Caitlin immediately entered it.

"You want me to deal with the patrol officers?" The Flash asked, nodding his head toward the bakery.

Vibe considered. If a meta of unknown abilities awoke terrified inside STAR it was probably safest they both be present. But Rosa was currently unconscious. And she was seven years old. Better a familiar face in an unfamiliar location than a crowd of costumed strangers.

Vibe scooped Rosa's limp body into his arms and, on second thought, also grabbed the bag of pastries and the fallen cell phone. "They'll believe it when the Flash says she's safe." Before the Flash could respond, Vibe stepped through the breach. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. "I'm a little late for the party but..." [return to text]
> 
> 2\. BATTERY LOW [return to text]


	2. Chapter 2

Caitlin started drawing a blood sample within seconds of Cisco setting Rosa on the gurney in the medbay. After a numb moment tucking a blanket over the girl's legs, he helped set up the pulse oximeter and blood pressure cuffs. He then stepped back, more confident in his ability to get out of the way than his ability to save the life of an unconscious child. 

Caitlin paused when she saw the worry on his face. "She'll be okay, Cisco." She gestured to the IV drip she'd set up. "She'll be awake as soon as the dextrose is metabolized. Twenty minutes, probably sooner."

"Should I have given her some sugar right away?"

Caitlin shook her head. "That depends. Diabetic coma could be induced by too much sugar as well as too little sugar."

"For real?" That seemed profoundly unfair to Cisco. 

"Getting more information was the right call," she insisted.

"Nice work, Cisco." Joe was leaning in the doorway, smiling.

Cisco flashed a weary smile, adrenaline rush finally tapering off as the other members of his team stepped in. "Thanks for the back-up," he said. 

Joe glanced at Cisco's full hands. 

"Rosa had these," Cisco explained. "Some pastries she... absconded with. I guess this counts as evidence?"

"Those pastries could have saved her life, if she'd eaten them on the spot. I doubt the owners of the bakery will press charges if we explain the situation."

Cisco schooled his face, not wanting Joe to realize there was a piece of the story missing: the mysteriously unlocked doors. He rushed to change the subject, fishing a hand into the bag. "Also, Rosa's phone. The battery's dead."

Cisco's fingertips brushed the hard plastic of the phone and his stomach lurched as his senses were overtaken. A vision washed over him, sudden, accidental.

He saw a teenage girl, perhaps 16 or 17 years old. Probably Rosa's older sister, from the looks of her nose and eyes. The girl was flinching, hugging herself across her chest. "Ana Margarita," read the nametag pinned to her black button-down shirt. 

Ana Margarita's mother was yelling at her in Spanish for losing Rosa. They were standing a familiar hallway. It could have been any of the houses up the street, had Cisco not walked that floor less than an hour ago in the memory of a young child.

Ana Margarita's hands curled into fists and she flung her arms down, stepping into her mother's space. «My boss called me in. What am I supposed to do, lose my job?»

The mother shook head, voice falling softer. «Ana—» 

«—You know I need that job. Everybody needs me to keep that job!» 

«You know you can't leave your sister alone.»

«She wasn't alone, she was with Dwight!»

They both looked to the unshaven man passed out in a ratty recliner in front of the TV. His slovenly throne was surrounded by crushed beer cans. There was family resemblance to Dwight but he looked young be Rosa's father; perhaps he was an uncle, even an older brother? The women's faces spoke what their words did not: Dwight was worthless as a babysitter. 

«I made sure to give her her shot. And I left her with my phone, if she did get out.»

«She got out. Like she always does.»

Both women lapsed into silence again. Cisco watch them cry in the narrow hallway in their separate, distant, closed postures. 

The teenager slumped to the floor, cursing into her knees in English. Finally, she looked up. «I'm sorry. I looked everywhere I could think of. Without my phone I couldn't call you... Should we call the cops?»

They both looked to Dwight again.

The mother sighed and hauled out her own cell phone, equally ancient as her daughter's. She dialed 911 with a shaking hand. Ana Margarita reached, offering to take the phone, but the mother tearfully shook her head: no. 

The phone picked up and the mother reported her lost daughter in careful, simple English. Every word stabbed Cisco's heart.

Ana Margarita looked around at the dilapidated state of the home. Apart from the space around Dwight's recliner, the floors were clean but chipped. The ceiling was blotched with countless, sourceless stains. Two fist-sized holes marred the drywall by the kitchen. She scrubbed her eyes with her hands. «What if they find her but don't give her back?»

The mother shook her head. «We find little Rosa first. Then we worry about getting her home.» She turned and began the arduous process of shaking Dwight awake.

Cisco let go of the vibe with a blink. The family knew Rosa was an escape artist, a regular Houdini, but right now he had to assume he was the only one who knew she was a meta. 

What to do about that? Barry's first instinct was always to hold unstable metas the pipeline. Despite the good intention behind the idea, Cisco knew that meant trauma for Rosa as well as for Rosa's family. He was not in the business of kidnapping. Maybe there was something else he could do to help.

Joe cleared his throat. Cisco blinked again and withdrew his hand from the crumpled brown paper bag before offering it to Joe. "I just want to see her get home," he said, smiling awkwardly to cover up the fact that he'd vibed. His gaze turned to Rosa on the medical gurney. "She needs to be with her family."

Joe narrowed his eyes momentarily, then clapped Cisco on the back, taking the bag with his free hand. "You're going to make a great dad someday."

Cisco's heart swelled with pride. Rosa was a cute kid but, he thought, when he tells this story to Cindy he won't share Joe's comment just yet.

* * *

The next afternoon Singh approached Joe's desk. Cisco didn't turn to face them fully, instead staring at the unplugged soldering iron in his hands. He was listening intently. "The strangest thing happened just now, Detective West."

Joe looked up with polite interest. "What's that, Captain?"

"I read last night's report from patrol car three, south side beat. The ones looking for the lost child."

"Oh?"

"Officers Lopez and Chou went over to a bakery by St. Mark's. Found the lights on and the doors unlocked, front and back."

"Odd."

"Odder still, the Flash was there. Told them he'd found the lost girl and taken her to get medical attention. He brought her here this morning, when she was stable."

"She was hurt?"

"Not badly, apparently. Diabetes. She's already home."

Joe relaxed visibly. "Lucky the Flash was in the area to get her to medical attention. I guess that case is closed, then. I'll help Officer Lopez with the report."

"Lucky indeed," Singh said, mild. He didn't stand from the desk he was leaning against. He keep his gaze steady on Joe.

Joe looked up. "I assume Chou said I sent them there?"

Singh nodded.

Joe clarified. "Actually, it was Cisco's idea." 

Cisco sat up rigid with a squeak. Singh and Joe looked at him. Joe rolled his eyes.

Singh motioned for Cisco to come to them. Cisco stood, soldering iron still in hand. The trailing cord knocked a tub of flux off his desk. It crashed to the floor. Around the room, heads snapped up from desks and computer screens. Cisco got the bizarre mental image of prairie dogs peaking up from dirt mounds. He was was too mortified to laugh.

Captain Singh cleared his throat. The prairie dogs went to ground. Cisco hurried over.

Singh's voice was low. "Ramon, please remind me how, exactly, you knew where to find the kid?"

Joe jumped in to assist. "Something about the translation was wrong."

Cisco shook his head, eyes low as he fiddled with the soldering iron. "For a beat cop the Spanish was fine; they just didn't know there was more than one definition for those words."

"Little doves," Joe murmured. 

"Every corner bakery sells conchas, but La Linda is the only one in town that sells popcorn—palomitas. I used to go to La Linda all the time with my cousins." 

"Cousins?" Singh frowned. "I thought the rest of your family was in Detroit." 

Cisco was surprised Singh ever knew that, and that he remembered. It made him wonder what else did not escape his captain's notice.

"Not _cousin_ cousins. Like... friends of the family. Neighbors' kids, actually." 

"I see." Singh seemed satisfied with that answer. Cisco felt his hands relax their white-knuckle grip on the soldering iron. 

"You knew the area better than the officers assigned to that neighborhood, and your understanding saved a child's life last night." 

"It would have," Cisco murmured, "if the Flash hadn't gotten there first."

"Of course," Singh amended. "That's what I meant." He was watching Cisco very carefully. 

When Cisco kept his gaze down and said nothing, Singh continued, "While your inventions have shown your worth to the force time and again, Mr. Ramon, this missing persons case shows your personal investment in the public good. It is also a reminder that your talents are not just technological. It would be useful to have you here in person, rather than your tech alone. As a token of my appreciation, and, shall we say a rather transparent attempt at a bribe to keep you around more, I have arranged for you to have your requested on-site workshop space."

Cisco's eyes lit up. "Sir, have I told you lately how much I love you?"

Joe burst out laughing, but quickly stifled it at Singh's glare. "Careful, Cisco," Joe said, reining himself in, "the Captain's a taken man."

"Follow me before I regret this decision," Singh turned around without waiting for a response. Cisco hurried behind, obvious bounce in his step. He'd saved the kid and proven his worth and now he was getting a lab at CCPD! He couldn't wait to tell Cindy about this!

Cisco's brow quirked up as they turned the corner past Singh's office. The corridor ended abruptly here, with just one door set in the side wall. 

"Sir?" Cisco asked. 

Singh's eyes were bright but his tone was bland. He gestured to the heavy wooden door. "After you, I insist."

It... it was the janitor's closet, now cleared of cleaning supplies and with another corner desk just like his jammed in. 

Singh leaned past Cisco — there wasn't standing room for two people and a desk — and reached up to grab the cord that hung from the ceiling. He pulled it to click on the overhead light, a bare bulb on a wire. 

"My new workshop is the broom closet? For real?"

"Perhaps you were hoping for a workshop with a view? A corner office with windows looking out to the public park?" Singh asked. Was that a light touch of humor Cisco detected? Couldn't be. This was Singh after all. 

"No, sir." Cisco shook his head. "This will do just fine."

"Very good. Do let me know if you have any other... special requests."

Cisco swallowed, uncertain how to take that. Then a smile split his face.

Before he could speak, Singh cut him off. "Still not getting a badge. Don't push me on that, Mr. Ramon."

Cisco's mouth snapped shut, but now they were both smiling.

It was awkward. Cisco shuffled his feet and managed to stammer, "Thank you." He already had an idea for his first project.

Before turning back to his office the captain nodded, curt. "Thank you, Cisco."

* * *

Later that evening, some time after papá had come home from the graveyard shift and hurried up to his daughter's room to sit next to her bed and weep silent tears of gratitude, a box had shown up on the kitchen counter. In a house with bars on the ground floor windows and several locks on every door, its sudden appearance alone was suspicious. That Dwight hadn't torn it open looking for something to pawn was even more of a miracle.

The package was the size of a small shoebox. Mamá stared at it for a long moment before deciding. First: coffee. Then the box.

Steaming coffee mug in hand, she opened the box. Inside were three small, sleek cell phones. They were new but from a distance looked to be old style flip-phones. Functional and durable but not flashy. They had no discernible brand name or logo. One was pink.

Nestled in the foam next to the phones was a small medical alert bracelet, pink rubber with a narrow plastic window onto an LED display. A handwritten note was tucked into the bracelet. In Spanish, the note read: 

  
_This should help with the wandering._  
_Also, there's a built-in blood sugar monitor — teach Rosa how to read it._  
_Take care of her. She's a good one._  
\- Vibe  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hover/follow embedded links for translations of Spanish dialogue.

Seven months later found Cisco and Caitlin alone together in the STAR labs lounge at 3:00 AM.

Caitlin hadn't been comfortable leaving Cisco by himself at such a late hour. She knew he hadn't been to his apartment to shower in a week, and she suspected it had been much longer since he'd slept there. She hated the idea that he was avoiding his home because it reminded him of Cynthia.

On second thought, maybe he was avoiding his apartment because he'd been stalked and nearly murdered by a supposedly unstoppable metahuman killer. Caitlin sighed. Memories of these past five days would not be kind to Cisco's future sleeping schedule.

She'd found him slouched on the couch with the lights half-dimmed. He was nursing a beer. She knew it was not his first drink of the night. He looked up when she came in but said nothing.

He didn't object when she sat down beside him. She fished out the television remote and logged into the digital video recorder. She played a recent recording; Iris had texted her a tip earlier that evening.

The broadcast was a special feature on a local news station. The footage was a mix of interviews interleaved with quiet night scenes overlaid with voiceovers.

Cisco tipped up a curious brow but groaned when the face of a Cathedral filled the screen. "Cait..."

"Hush," she scolded. "Just watch."

The street alongside the Cathedral glowed orange in streetlight. With the illuminated bustle below it seemed a lively color. Sunlight faded from the sky in timelapse as members of the church brought out seven folding tables and arranged them in a long, unbroken line on the sidewalk.

Each table was draped in cloth of a solid color: black or yellow or red. Most tables had stacks of boxes forming tiered shelf steps like little ziggurats. People came and went, translucent ghosts in a timelapse blur. All of the tables and their shelves were soon overflowing. More items appeared on the ground in front of the tables.

The footage cut to real-time scenes with a tighter focus on the altar offerings. Mostly, it was candles and incense burners. A few tables had fresh marigolds, somehow procured out of season. Others had a dusting of cut-paper marigold petals. Many of the altars had offerings of Twizzlers, or slushies, or a crisply folded takeout bag from Big Belly Burger.

The camera lingered on a framed polaroid photo of two grinning teenagers and a third, somehow blurry figure wearing goggles. Despite the lack of focus, the superhero's smile was obvious, genuine. On the couch, Cisco took a deep pull from his beer.

The camera zoomed out, steadied. A reporter appeared in view, walking alongside the tables. She was white, middle-aged, and moved with deliberate care, surveying the offerings with full attention for a minute before she approached a family at an altar.

The youngest child reached up to grasp his older brother's hand. They both angled their heads away from the bright bank of LED lights peaking over the cameraman's back.

"CC Picture News," the reporter prompted the adults. "Can I ask why you've brought your family here this evening?" As the offscreen interpretor translated, the reporter smiled down at the child, pointing to his red and gold sneakers and giving a thumbs up.

The middle-aged man, possibly the father, answered in Spanish.  "¿Un superhéroe parecido a mi? ¿A mis hijos? Maravilla de maravillas."[1]

The man beside him was grandfatherly, his face worn with age. He snorted. "Más semejante a la hija."[2]

The older sister appeared in the frame, interrupting in English. "Hey, just 'cuz he had long hair..."

Another timelapse faded into view over the sound of the family's laughter. At the end of the alley a Thai food truck arrived and started doling out pad see ew. The line grew long but nobody seemed in a hurry. People talked and met their neighbors, swapping stories with wide eyes and eager nods.

Voiceover: "The overwhelming theme of the evening was superheroes."

A trio of older teenagers. One was wearing a black leather jacket and sunglasses. They all had similar, shoulder-length dark hair.

"The Flash is still around."

"Yea but he's some young white dude. We all saw him on Flash Day."

"That other Flash, the one in yellow? My niece said he was a black guy."

"Good for him."

"Kid Flash is the one who teamed up with Vibe."

"But look where it got him. Not like the cops ever do anything..."

"Lately, if you called the cops, Vibe would show up ten minutes later a few blocks away." The friends stared and the boy in the jacket shrugged. "Seemed like a pretty good deal to me."

His friend jabbed his shoulder. "Narc."

The kid shrugged again. "Doesn't matter anymore."

The three paused for a second, faces solemn until one was split with a grin. "Hey maybe now they'll name a drink after him."

"Now maybe." Leather jacket looked at his feet, kicking the toes of his faded shoes into the dust. "Doesn't matter anymore."

Voiceover: "He'd clearly meant so much to this community, but I had to ask, who was this man? Did they know?"

Cut to the reporter approaching a small cluster of women exiting the cathedral.

"Who was Vibe?" The reporter asked. The translator murmured off screen.

The oldest woman crossed herself. "Un ángel. Descendido del cielo."[3] The other women nodded, solemn.

"Turn it off, Cait."

She looked at him, then pointedly slid her gaze from the beer in his grip to the pile of empty cans overflowing the recycling bin in the corner of the room.

When her eyes returned to his face, he groaned. "I don't want to hear it." His words were slurred, and it was unclear if he was referring to the TV, to Caitlin's upcoming admonishment, or to both.

"Maybe hearing some praise will help knock you out of that wallow of self-pity."

Cisco made an aborted attempt to steal the remote control from her but she snatched her hand away. He huffed in annoyance and crashed backward into the couch cushions. The move sloshed beer onto his shirt. He looked down at the wet spot, then shrugged halfheartedly and continued drinking.

Caitlin frowned, unable to reconcile this sloppy man with her understanding of her best friend. Finally, she sighed and directed her attention back to the TV screen, increasing the volume three ticks.

The reporter was standing the entryway of the cathedral. "I interviewed many people this evening and heard the same stories again and again: Vibe was here. He saved me, he saved my child, he saved my brother, he talked my friend off a bridge. We saw him, but he saw us. In a community where average police response time is upwards of 45 minutes, their own teleporting superhero had been a beacon of hope. Now that community comes together to mourn."

She beckoned over a man who was leaving the cathedral.

"How did you know Vibe?" The reported shoved the microphone closer.

"Never met him."

"Then why the vigil?"

The man crossed his arms over his chest. "Because he didn't wear a mask."

The footage shifted to a montage. Altars overflowing with marigolds. Newspaper clippings, unfolded and neatly framed. Flickering votive candles. The local park at dusk. A knot of teenagers wearing red and gold sneakers.

Voiceover: "In the past few weeks the south side had seen an increase in gang-related activity. Reported violent crimes nearly doubled overnight as news of the death of Vibe spread, and not all mourners are here to commemorate the superhero."

The footage cut to a distraught woman fiddling with the offering in her hand while her teenage daughter set a plate on Vibe's altar with a sob.

Beside them a man stared into the camera with heavy, unfocused eyes. His voice rumbled in Spanish. «My daughter always wanted to say thank you.» Abruptly, he turned away from the camera. The camera moved from the father's tear-streaked face to the altar. Candlelight flickered on a plate bearing two pink conchas.

"Vibe can't protect us any more," the teenager said, voice flat.

The mother's jaw was tight as she nodded slowly. In her hands she clutched a framed photograph.

«Vibe can't protect us any more,» the woman repeated. The camera panned past the photograph of a smiling face: Dwight, who had been her only son.

And then, almost hidden in the mother's shadow: two young, brown eyes blinking with tears.

«I don't know how to tell her Vibe can't protect us any more,» said her mother's voice.

Caitlin reached over to mute the sound of a commercial.

Cisco was staring at the beer can in his hand, eyes hard, jaw set.

Without a word, he stood, stalked across the room, and slammed the half-finished beer into the trash can.

He stooped, ripped open the door to his mini-fridge, snatched a six pack of beer, and flung it through a breach with a snarl. A two-armed swipe shoved the recently-stocked handles of liquor from the counter to the floor. Glass crashed and shattered. Caitlin cringed. The air soured with the mingled smell of rum and vodka and tequila.

Finally, with a raw yell of rage, he kicked the recycling bin, scattering empty beer cans into the air as he teleported away.

As the breach winked closed the beer cans fell, a messy rain showering the floor.

The clangs echoed off the walls, final, hollow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. "A superhero who looks like me? Like my kids? Marvel of marvels."[return to text]
> 
> 2\. "He looks most like your daughter." [return to text]
> 
> 3\. "An angel. Come down from heaven."[return to text]

**Author's Note:**

> [ **Spoilers** for this fic!] Content warning: child in medical crisis (nonviolent, on screen); alcohol abuse (on screen); references to diabetic coma and medical injection (non-graphic); OC death (off screen); mild child neglect; referenced systemic racism; briefly referenced gang violence (vague)


End file.
